


turn these cinders to flames

by talonyth



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Blue Lions centric, Character Study, Depression, Descent into Madness, Deviates From Canon, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Wartime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21560161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talonyth/pseuds/talonyth
Summary: The monastery left in shambles after the declaration of war, the Lions wake up on the battlefield: out of sight from one another, the belief that their friends are dead strong even if they hold hope steadily in their hearts. Will they find their way back to each other, even in the depths of war? Will it all still be the same? - A Blue Lion-Timeskip Study that involves fights, dragons and the worst demons - their very own thoughts.
Kudos: 10





	turn these cinders to flames

**Author's Note:**

> as a disclaimer from the very beginning: while this heavily relies on many canon events, down the line there will be a lot of things that are not canon compliant in the least when it comes to plot, myths and legends; mostly because i wanted to indulge myself first and foremost. it is based on an idea nico and i have had even before the game came out and i could not stop thinking of it - that said, there might still be spoilers to what actually happens so please, proceed with caution if you don't want to be spoiled for anything at all. 
> 
> tags will be added with each chapter as necessary and rating might still change so please be mindful of that! the same goes for characters and pairings respectively.

The sky was blue, the sun shining down on Sylvain when he opened his eyes. It looked so peaceful, so very much like it always had when everything was so fundamentally different now. As if the world wasn’t upside down, as if there had never been an attack on the monastery, as if he hadn’t had to watch students die, burn, fall to their deaths. His whole body ached with an intensity that made him wish he was one of them - and in the same breath, grateful that he wasn’t. 

It was such a twisted thing to be alive in that very moment. Alive and very much alone. 

Sylvain didn’t want to sit up. He didn’t want to move. Not because it hurt. Because he knew what he would see. It was better like this, he told himself. Maybe, if he stayed long enough, he would eventually pass. At least he would do it staring at the sky. 

Everything was different. Everyone was gone. He wondered if anyone at all had bothered looking for him. It didn’t matter so much anymore. Maybe they were dead. Felix, Ingrid, Dimitri, Dedue. Mercedes, Annette and Ashe. The professor too. Maybe he was the only cursed one who had survived. Who deserved to live through this, no matter how many childhood promises he made. 

Or maybe - and that he couldn’t help but selfishly pray for - they had simply abandoned him. Still fought, still ran, better off without him. He couldn’t blame them. If Sylvain could, he would have abandoned himself too. 

Considering the village and fields had been burning, struck by the fire of a being he had only seen in children’s books of myths and legends, it was odd how quiet the world had gone. That he could lay there, on his back, simply staring at the clouds wander without hearing a single thing. Not even the sharp gusts of wind that were common around Garreg Mach and hated by most students because it had destroyed everything from umbrellas to focus. 

But it was not that Sylvain simply couldn’t hear anymore. It seemed like perhaps it was only the sky that remained unmoved, so far detached from what happened on the ground. 

Sylvain sat. The world twisted and turned, nausea hitting him to his deepest core. All he could do was close his eyes, bear the pain of… what? Of having lost everything? Everyone? Of thinking they escaped without looking for him? Of being alive? Of being nearly dead? His mind had already been a mess before wars and revolutions, a constant contradiction of what he wanted and needed. 

If it were only broken bones. He could mend those, for a short period of time. Just until he reached a village - granted there were any left that had not been raided. How long had he been unconscious? Such quiet only settled after days, after one side was certain there was no one left to attack anymore. 

On cue, Sylvain realized he was shaking, his throat dry, his body a single ache. He knew how it felt, trying to survive on his own.  
Two nights. That was how long it had taken him to find his way from the forest where Miklan had left him - not back home, but to the Fraldarius territory. He hadn’t wanted to go back home anymore, he swore he wouldn’t. Not when he knew Miklan was there. He’d only be dragged out into the woods again and left alone. Still, Sylvain eventually did have to return home. No less afraid but much wiser on how to stay alive. 

It hadn’t happened again but Sylvain strongly felt as though that was thanks to Rodrigue even when he never mentioned any of that to him. Miklan could try to kill him all he wanted - at that point, Sylvain already knew he would survive it all. For some wretched reason, nothing ended his suffering. No one managed. 

Not even a war could, as it seemed. Or perhaps he simply had to try harder. Sylvain exhaled, and slowly, he opened his eyes. 

The fields of Garreg Mach were no longer the green he remembered. They were a murky, sickly grey of ash and smoke, bodies littered across them. Their blood had dried and seeped into the ground, twisted arms and legs, faces turned from him. For the better, he reckoned. 

They were all students, monks and knights. All who worked or studied at the monastery just like him. If he tried, Sylvain knew he would probably recognize some of them. But he didn’t bother. He couldn’t. With a groan, he tried to get to his feet, ignoring the pain in his ribs when he realized that something moved. Someone.

Sylvain froze. There were voices. Two. Footsteps drawing closer. Armour clanking. 

“Did you find something?” one voice asked. 

Sylvain let himself fall to the ground, biting his lower lip to stifle the moan escaping him. It hurt. All of his body hurt so badly. 

“No. She just disappeared. I don’t believe we are going to find her here. She probably already ran away. Abandoned all these kids. What a joke. The damn archbishop,” the other grumbled. “Letting students fight her fight. But if they side with her, it’s their own fault. Lady Edelgard gave them a choice.”

“This is what we fight for. Nothing is going to change if we don’t start somewhere. I feel bad it had to be them but… as you said. In the end, it was them or us.”

Sylvain grit his teeth. What kind of choice did they have? It wasn’t as if Edelgard kindly knocked and asked if they would like to hear her suggestions on how to change the world. She started a war for her ideals. She called it a revolution for a better future instead of seeing the slaughter she incited. 

No matter how much he agreed with her demand to dismantle the crest system, it didn’t justify whatever had happened here. It didn’t make the death of these people in any way worthwhile - a small sacrifice for the sake of the future. That was what they would be. 

Sylvain slowly brushed his palm along the floor, trying to avoid too much movement. Nothing to give away that he was very much awake and alive. They were two, and he was one, they were wearing armour and he was battered and bruised. 

There was no chance he would win against them. 

There was no reason to fight them. 

There was no reason to let them live. 

There was no reason to wait for them to pass by and fling his spear at them. 

There was no longer a reason to cling to this life without everyone else in it. 

Sylvain hadn’t hit well enough to kill the soldier but his crooked spear still protruded from his shoulder, a shocked expression on his face as he realized Sylvain was alive. It gave him enough momentum to throw himself at the wounded soldier and tear the spear from his shoulder. Twisted around to deflect the lance his buddy had swung, grab it and with all his might rip it from his grasp with a roar. 

Nothing could have prepared him better for odd fights like these than Felix’ and Dimitri’s constantly squabbles. Nothing could have taught him how to duck and strike better than Dedue had. He didn’t have Ashe’s keen eye to hit every obstacle nor did he have the magic repertoire Annette had but he could still try. 

One step back, enemy lance tight in his grasp, he flicked his other hand and focused on the flickers to grow until he threw the lance back to its owner, engulfed in flames. This time, it hit, it stuck, and the soldier dropped to his knees with an anguished scream as the fire caught onto his armour. 

He ducked again when he heard footsteps from behind him, the soldier he’d injured first barrelling at him with sword in hand. It was a dance, the professor used to say, except if you stopped moving, you were dead. Step after step, Sylvain evaded the strikes - not nearly as precise and quick as Felix’ used to be - until he saw an opening. 

Armours were all the same. They were sturdy but they had their weak spots. It was a matter of timing, Ashe had always said. He hadn’t been proud of that knowledge but it kept him alive. 

That was all it always was. An instinct to survive, no matter what. Even if it meant hurting someone else. 

Even if it meant killing someone else. 

Sylvain jammed his spear into the soldier’s neck, watching his expression shift from the same surprise as before to… anger. Hatred. Just before he dropped to the floor like his burning friend. 

Thump, thump, and then they were gone. Just like that. 

It wasn’t the first time Sylvain took a life - their missions at the monastery had often enough entailed killing bandits, thieves and heretics. He knew that was not why he was desensitized to the action of it, though. 

It was him. He’d been the broken one all along. No matter how much he prayed he wouldn’t be hated, people would do it either way. Those he hated, those he liked, those he loved, those he killed. It all ended up being the same. 

Sylvain grabbed the lance the sword-wielding soldier hadn’t even used; a sturdier, heavier thing than his crooked excuse of a broken lance. He’d gotten it from the professor - back then it was a sparkly silver lance that weighed heavily but he cherished the feeling of it. He could protect his friends with it. He could fend off anyone who tried to hurt them. 

But it turned out that even a lance like that could do nothing when it boiled down to war. He could protect himself just fine with it - else how was he alive - but that was all it was. That was all it had ever been.

When had he last protected anyone but himself? Truly, it was no surprise that he was left to his own devices. Left behind by everyone. 

How lonely. 

How liberating.

How delightful.

It struck him that this meant he could do whatever he wanted now. That being alive like this, it was punishment and freedom alike. He didn’t need to go back home. His father would probably think he died - not uncommon, and it had been such a surprise attack too. 

Sylvain gripped his lance tighter. His hands were shaking, his shoulders were, from the top of his head down to his toes. There were no tears, only a single rumble and tremor, laughing, laughing, laughing. 

Because if he had nothing left, if nothing mattered anymore, it meant he could live however he pleased. Give or take whatever he damn well wanted. Go wherever he wanted. Get himself killed if he chose to, fight if he felt like it. And if he didn’t, he could hide away and be a coward. Die from loneliness like a rabbit. 

It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did. Nothing would. 

Living like every breath could be his last, _would_ be his last… it was thrilling. It was so lonely but so freeing. So sad but so exciting. 

Sylvain stared down at the corpses of the imperial soldiers he’d slain. Why only take the lance? They didn’t need their armour anymore. And if people thought him an imperial soldier? What did it matter? When had he ever yearned for chivalry like Ingrid or Glenn? When had he ever been dutiful like Dimitri or Dedue? When had he ever been passionate like Annette or Felix? Or kind like Mercedes and Ashe? 

And of all these people, he was the one left in this world. Sylvain Jose Gautier, a miscreant of the worst kind, a coward who hurt others deliberately, angered them just for the thrill of it. Who felt nothing for anything, and when he did feel something, no one believed him. His own fault, truly. His very own intention. 

Sylvain stripped the pieces of armour he could use from the soldiers, ignoring the sharp pain of his wounds, of his crooked bones. Bit by bit, he hid his vulnerable, injured parts away beneath steel and leather, wiping the blood from his face. 

If those two had come here, it meant there were potentially more of them roaming around. That, and there had to be some kind of post or camp nearby for supplies, weapons and the like. This whole attack - Edelgard’s betrayal - it seemed like a thing long-planned so he wouldn’t be surprised to find that her men had already prepared like that. 

Sylvain was by far not as strong as any of the others had been - but he did survive and he had one advantage over them. He wasn’t scared of death at all. He could charge into an enemy camp without a single thought. Fighting like he wanted to die. 

He pushed the nausea down, broke the tip of his broken silver spear and slipped it into his pocket. Sylvain had never been particularly sentimental but it only seemed right to have at least one keepsake of the life before this newly acquired freedom. He was sure the professor would turn in their grave right now and it was… less of a pleasant and satisfying feeling than Sylvain had thought. He had never collected their debt. And now he never would. 

Now, he never would.

**Author's Note:**

> the chapters will be split into different povs, the first one being sylvain being fun at parties - which pov it is will be mentioned in the chapter names (often accompanied by a crit/battle quote bc i am a sucker for them). there is a lot on my mind with uni and work but i will try to update it as regularly as possible. if you want to talk to me about it, feel free to reach out on twitter [@talonyth](https://twitter.com/talonyth)!


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